A Case of Her Own
by RememberMeIt'llBeWorthIt
Summary: Emily Prentiss questions the knot that ties in the pit of her stomach every time she looks into the eyes belonging to Aaron Hotchner, but hasn't come to terms to label what she's feeling. Not to mention, her inability to manage with his irritable, domineeringly masculine need for control. Can Prentiss overcome this feeling or follow it? Not to mention does Hotchner feel it, too?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_"To love at all is to be vulnerable." -C.S. Lewis_

Emily Prentiss idly twiddled her thumbs as her diligent mind scrambled in thought. She was in desperate need of a manicure, and her petite hands started to prove her strenuous work. A consuming exhaustion was threatening to swallow what was left of her conscious energy. The previous night, consisting of an ad infinitum of tossing and turning, was not one of revitalization. An unsuspecting guest had been visiting her dreams, and Emily did not know what to make of it. She could, without difficulty, picture his deep brown eyes…captivating every last bit of her attention…

"Prentiss," A squeaky voice interrupted her reverie. "What do you think?"

Emily tilted her head upward to find Garcia's face plastered with a concerned, furrowed look. The rest of the team joined as they studied her clearly distracted expression. Emily froze at a loss for words.

"I, um," Prentiss stuttered, praying that her subconscious might have listened to any part of what Garcia was previously stating. "I think…that…"

"Prentiss," Aaron Hotchner's firm, demanding tone called. "Can I see you out in the hall for a moment?"

Emily, not sure what else to do, nodded dumb stricken and followed Aaron's lead outside the door. She could sense her heart's staccato beat begin to accelerate into a rapid pulsation. Her heels clicked on the tile floor of the BAU, ricocheting off the plastered grey walls. Exhaling, Emily built the courage to look him in the eye.

"Yes, sir?" She asked innocently, though fully aware he could detect her discomfort.

"Tell me what is bothering you." Hotch replies almost immediately. His forwardness catches Emily off guard.

"Nothing, sir. I'm just a little tired, that's all." She answers, internally cursing her lack of ability to lie.

Hotch's mouth firms into a grim line, his brow furrowing in a suspecting manner.

"No, there's more, and I'd appreciate if you'd tell me." He snaps.

Prentiss planted her hands on her hips and leaned her weight to one side. There was nothing she couldn't stand more than when Hotch's domineering control-self pushed her past her limits. Ever since she was little, Emily remained introverted. Keeping to herself was all she was taught to do. Admitting to herself what she felt was a challenge, let alone admitting it to her boss.

"Hotch, I'm telling you the truth, I promise. Let's just go back to the case, okay?" Emily started to pass him when he reached out his arm to block her access.

"Emily, you know you can talk to me." Hotch tells her in a hushed tone. "About anything." He adds.

Prentiss reluctantly looked upward to meet Aaron's gaze. It held hers for what felt like days. Her chest rose and fell, her breath quickening with every inhalation.

"I'm. Fine."

Hotchner hesitated, sighing in discontentment. Grudgingly, he moved his arm to let Emily through. She hastily scurried back into the room to find a room full of eyes all set on her. Disheveled and still a tad dazed, Prentiss took her seat and attempted to ignore the obvious stares. As she collected her things, her eyes caught Derrick Morgan's.

_What was that about? _He mouthed, his handsomely outlined jaw locking back in place, waiting for an answer. Prentiss exhaled and rolled her eyes in response.

"Alright, Garcia, what do ya got for us?" She endeavored to change the subject. Garcia subconsciously gave her a puzzled look but it is quickly overcome by a look of business.

"Well, let's see. Okay we have three females, all in their early to mid thirties, all brunette, each one brutally raped and stabbed multiple times in their own beds. This is…the…south end of Boston, Massachusetts. Grace Williams, Lisa Melz, and Nicolette Thibeault." Penelope elucidates, searching for information on the papers she's clutching in her hot pink polished nailed fingers.

"None of the stab wounds are anywhere near close to the heart, it must have taken the victim several stabs before dying." J.J. adds, her expression one of slight disturbance.

"Actually, there are many techniques and areas in the human body that can repeatedly be stabbed without causing major blood loss. The pain is that equivalent of a stab aimed toward a major artery, but the mortem is achieved much slower." Spencer Reid stated matter-of-factly.

"The murders were all reported from 8-12a.m." Garcia supplemented.

"Do we know the times of death? Or cause?" Hotchner asks, studying the screen displaying the vile murders of three young women.

"No, sir. But we do know that they each one worked at the Sowa art fair every Sunday in the south end, as well.

Hotchner reviews his papers with the team and comes to a conclusion.

"Looks like we're going to Boston."

The jet contained a tension thick enough to cut through with a knife. Looks of curiosity mixed with concern were detectable on the team's faces. Aaron Hotchner remained even more distant than usual, and Emily Prentiss tried her best to keep to herself. Turbulence occasionally shook the plane, causing her to jump a bit.

"Alright, baby girl, tell me whatcha got." Morgan video called Garcia playfully, hoping to lighten up the mood. It was difficult when the conversation was revolved around three murders of beautiful young women.

"Okay well," Garcia's nimble fingers slid around the keyboard. "Nicolette Thibeault worked on the 11-4 shift of a pet adoption stand in Sowa on Sundays. She had just recently broken her engagement with her fiancé and boyfriend of five years."

A picture of the young woman and her fiancé showed up on the small computer screen. She wore a floral sundress and six-inch heels, yet her boyfriend still had at least a foot on her.

"That puts him as a possible unsub." Hotch stated.

"Garcia, how tall was she?" Spencer Reid asked, his eyes fixed on the picture.

Clicking sounds of the keyboard were heard and soon Garcia answered with, "Five foot two. Her boyfriend was six foot four."

Reid nodded in response, digesting the information.

"So her fiancé could have easily overpowered her, overcome by anger with the breakup, felt the need to show his power over her by raping her and then killing her." J.J. plays with the idea.

"What's Nicolette's ex-fiancé's name?" Morgan asked.

"Matthew Campbell. Thirty-five years old, works as an English teacher in a music and arts high school in Boston. Has been arrested for battery and assault from Nicolette in 2009, but she quickly dropped the charges after being released from the hospital after a night."

"Alright, Reid and J.J., and Morgan will go to the morgue and inspect the body, Prentiss will accompany me to talk to Matthew." Hotch declared.

Prentiss froze when she heard her name. _Just _her and Hotch? Alone? That was highly unusual. She felt the familiar knot in her stomach begin to twist. Getting to her feet, she started for the lavatory to remain calm. She heard footsteps behind her.

"Emily," Hotch whispered, trying not to let the rest of the team hear him. "Where are you going?"

"To the bathroom, Hotch, okay?" Prentiss answered, irritated that he was questioning her every move.

"Prentiss you will talk to me with respect or I will remove you from this case entirely, do you understand?" Hotch barked. Emily was taken aback from his overreaction. But she was tired of his need to control everyone, and her irritability today was not easily monitoring her actions.

"Hotch, don't you think you're overreacting a little?"

"You will address me by 'Sir' unless I say otherwise, do you understand me?"

Emily's entire body tensed and heat began to rush to her cheeks. Why was he acting like this? Yes, he was usually subliminally trying to prove his masculinity and control, but nothing ever like this. Emily could feel the anger begin to build up inside of her. She was a strong woman, no doubt about it.

_ I could kick your ass, if I wanted to. _Prentiss thought to herself, feeling her lip curl.

"_Sir,_" She exaggerated the 'sir,' knowing it would push his buttons. "I don't think there's any need to remove me from the case. And I just feel you've been acting…differently toward me, that's all." She carefully chose her words.

Hotch inhaled, his masculine shoulders rising and falling. His intense brown eyes were a mix of inquisitiveness and anger. Emily couldn't profile him if she tried.

"Get back to the case." Hotchner ordered, turning his heels in one slick and returning to the stunned team.

_**Hi everyone, thank you so much for reading. I haven't written anything for FanFiction in a while, so this is a little rough. Please feel free to review, it helps me get inspired to write. Continue to read, more will be uploaded shortly!**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"_There is beauty in a woman whose confidence comes from experiences; a woman who knows she can fall, pick herself up, and move on." -Unknown author_

The morgue was the usual dismal building with dull grey walls and the familiar scent of rubbing alcohol. Three lifeless bodies lay across white sheets, similar to the pastiness of their pallid skin. Emily Prentiss couldn't quite put her finger on the eerie feeling they gave her. Sure, they were dead bodies, but she had grown accustomed to that factor. What was it about these women that made her feel so…peculiar?

"These women…" The medical examiner shook his head side-to-side and exhaled deeply. "These women suffered a slow and painful death. Grace Williams had 28 stab wounds, and by the time they were done with her, she was probably still alive. Blood loss was the cause of death. Lisa Melz had 33 stab wounds, and she, as well, died from blood loss. What was different about Nicolette was that she had a significant amount of stabs…let's see…67. From what I can see, she died from a stab to the heart. It's the freshest of the wounds, therefore most likely the last one, and cause of death. She also must have been bound- there's rope marks both her wrists and ankles." He grimaced and it was evident he had never seen such a gruesome crime.

"The unsub must have had personal ties with her," Prentiss started. "There's obvious anger and animosity distinguishing her murder from the others."

Aaron Hothner nodded in agreement, inspecting Nicolette.

"She's smaller than the others, too." He added.

"Maybe she's not what he wanted? He got mad?" Prentiss offered.

Before Hotchner could answer, the familiar sound of his phone rang.

"Hotch." He answered after retrieving it from his pocket. Prentiss and the medical examiner watched his expressionless face as they tried to detect any words from the murmurs coming from the phone's speaker. He quickly hung up his phone and put it back.

"Another young woman is missing, same victimology, reported four hours ago." He explains, his voice a monotonous hum.

"From what we can tell, the victims were killed within twenty-four hours of the initial abduction." The medical examiner told them, his brow furrowing with anxiety and concern.

"We need to get going, then." Hotch said as he started for the door.

His rough hands caressed her supple skin, tracing the creases of frown in her forehead and removing any worry she had in her body. She ran her fingers through his coarse brown hair, thinking about the secret urge that wanted her to do so at the most inappropriate of all times. He leaned inward; his hooded eyes seductive and full of desire…yearn…

Prentiss jerked forward in her seat, catching her breath. Coming to realization she was in the car, she eased back and sunk down.

"Are you alright?" Hotchner asked her, slightly apprehensive.

She couldn't look him in the eyes. Not after that…

"Yeah, I'm just still tired." She answered, her eyes gazing out the window. Boston was nice, she thought, and she could picture herself living here one day; the centuries-old cobblestone, the historic buildings, the busy harbor.

The vehicle slowed to a steady halt as the yellow crime scene tape came closer. A block of old, closely settled apartment buildings surrounded them, along with what felt like ostentatious black SUV's pretentiously intruding with their sleek black polish. Hotchner and Prentiss swiftly exited the car and were led by the local Boston Police into the apartment. Just an hour ago, and unsuspecting young woman looked at this building with an intuitive sense of safety, innocently unaware she was facing her death.

Despite the building's external disillusionment, the woman's apartment had a cheerful charm to it. Prentiss blinked at the customary flashing of the crime scene cameras. On a twin bed lay a brunette young woman, around 30 or so, with fresh red lipstick on her parted lips and the color drained from her face. Her arms dangled from the edge of the bed, her ironed red sundress hiked up right below her hips. Her curly dark brown hair sprawled across the

"Neighbors heard screaming," A tall, blond man with a vest reading "DETECTIVE" across it told Prentiss and Hotch as they inspected the body. Emily nodded, soaking in the sight in front of her.

"Can we fit a profile, Hotch?" A familiar voice came from behind Prentiss. She turned around to find Derrick Morgan with J.J. following behind.

Aaron hesitated. _What is he thinking? _Prentiss thought to herself, awkwardly standing between the two.

"Not yet. I want everyone to get back to the office; J.J. call in Garcia and get Reid." Hotchner ordered. He turned to Prentiss and exhaled.

"We're going to use you as bait."


End file.
